


tua mamma

by ladyballs_and_manboobs



Series: The Casa Rametta Chronicles [4]
Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, HAPPY NEW YEAR FANDOM, Post-Finale, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyballs_and_manboobs/pseuds/ladyballs_and_manboobs
Summary: They hold each other like two people washed ashore after a shipwreck.





	tua mamma

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for Isra. Happy birthday, darling.

He can feel it. The merciless turn of the tide. And he hates it, hates his own weakness. He’s been doing so well all of last week, he almost started to believe it’s never going to end. But he knows it’s ending now.

Nico’s heart wants to be calm and content, wants him to scoot closer to Marti’s sleep-warm body and press the tip of his nose to Marti’s fragrant nape. It wants him to rest without dreaming.

But his head wants him to stay awake and think.

_What if Milan happens again? What if you lose it again? Sooner or later, you  will. What if you do something worse, something so terrible, he won’t be able to forgive you? You’ll hurt him. Everyone who loves him will hate you. His friends. His mother. Why stick around and wait for it?_

It seemed so easy for Marti to forgive the way Nico’s mother treated him. ‘I can’t be mad at your mom. She gave me you.’ And that was that. Marti had no doubts that Nico’s mom would come around when she sees Nico is doing better _with_ him.

Nico, in turn, could not be so sure about Martino’s mom liking him. _Not when she finds out what you’re really like. How you’re leeching happiness off him. And she will make Marti see that, too._

Nico twists and turns, the duvet suddenly hot and scratchy, his own breathing so loud he’s afraid he’ll wake Marti up. The last thing he wants is for his groggy, adorable boyfriend to fuss over him and feel like he has to manage his traitorous moods.

_You’re a millstone around his neck. His lovely, lovely neck._

Nico slides off the bed, grabs a pillow, and sneaks out.

* * *

_Oh, for heaven’s sake, Giulia. It’s still your own house. You are allowed to get up and take anything from the fridge. The kitchen isn’t off limits just because your son has a friend staying over tonight._

_A boyfriend,_ she corrects herself. _Martino has a boyfriend staying over._

The thought makes her smile and shake her head.

As any mother, she knows that her own son is the most lovable boy in the entire universe, so she wasn’t surprised to learn that he was dating someone. She should have known, however, that he doesn’t do anything by halves, including romance – and that, he got from her (together with red hair and a penchant for swearing in the tenderest of moments).

For Giulia Rametta, watching Martino give his entire heart away at 17 could only compare to watching him take his first breath – a miracle.  

_Now you’ve made yourself cry. Get it together. Or at least get the dessert._

Finally, she gives in to her sweet tooth and shuffles out of the bedroom. Quietly passing Martino’s door, she makes a quick turn to the kitchen and… freezes.

The sounds are small and sorrowful, wet sniffles mingled with shaky exhales, almost like little Martino suffering from night terrors again – but she can tell it’s not him curled up on the sofa with his back to the world.

“Niccolò?” She winces at the way her voice makes the boy stiffen in fright.

For a second he doesn’t move, as if hoping she’ll leave him like this and save them both the embarrassment. Instead, she walks over to the sofa and perches on the side where his legs are tucked up. She recognizes Martino’s old pyjama bottoms, the ones with little planets on them.

“Is something the matter?” she inquires timidly, trying not to spook him again. Niccolò sighs and heaves himself up, folding and unfolding his limbs until both of them are sitting side by side. He hastily wipes his cheeks.  

“Signora Rametta…I’m so sor-“

“You have nothing to be sorry about, dear. Did you boys have a quarrel?”

“No, no. Marti is asleep.” She’s still not used to his voice, so different to Martino’s, but equally expressive. Even now, still croaky with tears, it turns so gentle at the mention of Martino that her arms itch to hug the boy. “I didn’t want to bother him. It’s just my…my…”

“Just your head?” Finally, he looks her in the eye. She hopes he can see understanding there.

Niccolò nods with a weak smile, then turns to look at his wringing hands.

“You’d probably like someone different for Marti. Someone with less…issues.” He mumbles it so indistinctly that she has the impression that he doesn’t want her to hear it.

A wave of emotion seizes her throat and brings tears to her own eyes, and before Niccolò can stutter out any more astonished apologies, she wraps her arms around him. It’s an awkward, sideways hug, but Niccolò returns it. They hold each other like two people washed ashore after a shipwreck. After a long moment, she finds her voice again.

“I used to worry so much about being a bad mother…thinking that Martino deserves someone strong, someone who can be there for him every day. Sometimes I still can’t help but think that.” Her voice trembles, and she feels a tentative press of fingers on her elbow, a tiny comfort. “But with what love I could give him, I still raised the kindest, most caring soul I’ve ever known, and I trust my son to choose what’s best for him.”

She pushes away from Niccolò, just enough to get a proper look at his face. “You must be very special, and I wouldn’t want anyone different for him. Never doubt that.”

She quickly wipes his cheeks with the palm of her hand, and he laughs bashfully at the easy familiarity of it. “Please don’t tell him I had a breakdown on your sofa during the night.”

“Only if you promise not to tell him I was up raiding the fridge.”

* * *

Martino finds them in the early morning, alarmed after waking up in an empty bed. His mother and Niccolò, knocked out on the sofa in front of a softly whirring laptop, an empty bag of Pan Di Stelle between them.

The sight is as confusing as it’s endearing, and his burning curiosity makes him tiptoe over and wake the screen with a single tap. The shot is a bit blurry and tilted, but he recognizes it instantly as the day father took them to the Bioparco. There’s his mother, young, smiling, _happy_. There’s a ridiculously chubby version of himself, short arms reaching out toward a baby giraffe that's craning its neck, both of them equally curious about the other.

When Martino looks up, he’s met with green eyes, red-rimmed but crinkling at the corners. Not a thing needs to be said.  


End file.
